Set in the little village of Pupnat, perched up in the hills. Sat outside on  a little wooden terrace, crowded around a large wooden table,  sat underneath a roof where white pieces of fabric billowed against the vines trained around the woodwork and above our heads.

An old man sat at the next table, his left hand stroking a cute little puppy, his right hand smoking cigarette after cigarette as he nodded at us and smiled fondly at our exclamations of delight.

First, a basket was brought to the table, containing a variety of grappas for us to sample.

Then we feasted upon huge platters of salty prosciutto, creamy cheeses, unusually intensely flavoured dark olives, aubergine dip, sun-blushed aubergines and soft bread delicately flavoured with fennel.

"Beautiful," we said to the smiling woman who served us. "Hvala." (Thank you).

And then we realised.

That was our starter.

Next came plates full of tiny pasta tubes cooked al dente, served with a variety of sauces: slightly spicy tomato, crisp wild fennel, incredibly tender pieces of beef lightly flavoured with fig and an almond pesto. And ravioli of fresh goat's cheese.

Then a selection of desserts: chocolate and almond cake; a creme caramel style cake; a rich lemon  flavoured chesecake with pieces of orange rind in the base. And huge purple grapes, with tight skin that burst in the mouth, releasing the sweetest of flavours.

All washed down with as much red and white wine as we could drink, which was produced by the restaurant owners.

The grappas re-appeared for our grand finale.

And we laughed, and we ate, and we drank, and we swapped stories of travelling and home and friends and family and love and humour, as the sun softly set around us, and the evening wrapped a warm cloak of conviviality and booze around our little group.